


test subject

by writtenFIRES



Series: Egotober 2017 [2]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Amnesia, Blood, Dr. Schneeplestein - Freeform, Egotober, Goretober, Hypnosis, Jacksepticeye egos, Mind Control, Scars, Torture, light gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 10:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12252951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenFIRES/pseuds/writtenFIRES
Summary: Egotober Day 2: experiment/Goretober Day 2: scarsLately, Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein had been getting scars.





	test subject

**Author's Note:**

> That “just got off eleven hours of backbreaking manual labor” feel is great for goretober prompts, just saying. Sorry subject of my pain and sadism. You will be sorely missed.
> 
> Goretober listing [here](https://mori-arts.tumblr.com/post/165700405936/just-so-you-know-ill-do-goretober-this-year).
> 
> Egotober listing [here](https://ego-surveillance-squad.tumblr.com/post/165423877706/heres-the-prompt-list-for-egotober-best-name-i).
> 
> _This text looks how my body feels._

Lately, Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein had been getting scars.

One might ask why such a normal occurrence happened to be noteworthy.

The main issue was, at its heart, that Schneep never recalled the injuries leading to said scars. Some were small and could probably be dismissed as a nick he'd failed to notice, but others were large- concerningly so. _Life threatening sized._

Yet even with the soreness, the brilliant pink staring back at him in the mirror, Schneep could not bring himself to remember the cause. Surely, he would have known if he sliced his abdomen open, right? He would have cried out in pain and been covered in blood if great swatches of his forearms were peeled away. He almost never handled heating elements or fire in his clinic, so why was his back littered with burn scars of all shapes and sizes?

This was more than waking up with a bruise or a sore limb. It was more than forgetting bumping into a table or triggering a muscle cramp. Schneep couldn't remember _anything_ out of the ordinary. When he tried hard, when he concentrated, it was all just a blur. A haze of green and black and stuttering words in the air, in his brain.

Ǫ̴̶̼̭̯̯̭͈̇̾̓̐ͨͤ͒͆̔͌ͪͦ̔̚h̺̼̘̘̘̹̉͋̏͢͞,̸̢̧̛̮͓̲̜͈͇̙̳͕ͤ̔ͬ̋͌͗̓͑̋̅ͪ̈̐́͑͝ ̢̭̖̺̬̬ͫͫͦ͂̐͒͊̊̔͒͂ͮ̾ͯ̅D̵̟̳̣̝͖̬͈̼͉̜͎͖͇̝̘͙̲̮͙̆͐ͩ͌͊ͥ̈́͒͆̐̎ͩͨ̈̚͝oͮ̈͋̇ͯͥͬ̌̏̓ͬ҉͙̳͇̭̖̖̮̞̲̞͉̘͙̜ċ̵̮̳̝̙̭̱̾͆ͭ̓̈͗ͪ͒̿ͩ͗͌̓͟͝͠t̨̧̛̰̮̻̠̤̱́̐͑ͭ͌̎̋̊̄͐̒͗͛̐õͦ͒̿ͤ͗̓ͨͭ͌͛̈̐̀̓̍̂҉̸̧̖̲̥͖͉̱̭̗͎̞͍̩ͅr̒ͮ̐ͮͥ̆̓̄̑̈̄͑̚͡҉̯͚̦͎̳͓̲̩̰̹̪̰͟.̢̺̗̮̤̦̲͕͇͙̰̱͎͕̬̙͖ͤͧ͋̅̏ͬ͐͆͒̄ͫ̽̈̆́͛́̉͜͜ͅ

His eye stung. His head pounded. Why couldn't he move his limbs?

B̡̧͐͊̓̈́̃̇̐͗ͧ̍̎̿̿̉ͥͯ̆̑͢҉̧̜̭̠̼͕ą̧̛̼͉̞̫̘̭̹̩͚ͭͩ̄̓ͬ̔̽͘͞c̶̤͇̰̜͙̜͉̪̮̗̩̲̯̰̰͍̲͕̼ͤ̈́ͯ̇͘k͂ͨ̉̅ͥ͏͈̹̪̩̩͕͞ ͫ̒̇ͣ̋̐̃ͤͦͩͮͭ͊͑ͦ͑̈́͡͞҉̥̳͉̯̟͉̜͎̪͚͎̩̥̗̟̗f̷̛̛ͮͣ͐̀͌ͧ̈͆ͨ̈́̍ͫ̓̍͛ͭ̐͏̤͕͓̞͎̦͖̳͕̜͚͖͔̤̯̲͙̖̬̕o̢͋ͧͦ̏҉̢̛̜̤̝͎̮̭̪̕r̷̦̫̯̞̘̹͆ͥ͂̽̈̌̔ͮ̆͆͆͋̚͜ ̷̱̩͓͈̮̣̟̬̖̫͚̞̋ͣ͆̔͗̍͊͛͌̈ͧͨ̾̅ͩ̄̚ͅą̎̈́ͬͨ̆͞͏̵̞̮̱͉͙̥n̶̡̛̳̘͖͕̮̗̺̙̩̼̗̣̜̬̖͔̻̤͌͑̾̋̽ͦ͊̏ͧ̽͋ͯͬ̈ͮͫͦͬͮ͡o̴̸̢̞̭͓̪̼̘̻̱͎̥̪̩̟͕̪͗̿̉͛͌ͯ͘t͌̀́͗ͦ̎̾̏ͦ̚҉͞͡҉̲̭̲̭̘̼̦̖ͅh̡̻̬̹͕͚̹̖̭̫͗ͩ̉̇ͬ̐͗̓ͪ̎ͨ̔͋͐́͑ͨ̑͞͡ȩ̸̧̲̻̣̭̻̯̣̰̝̓̽ͩͧͬ͗ͤ̇̿̿̀͋ͮ̉ͅr̡̂̏͊̌ͦ̀ͣ͂̄̃̽̉̓̉͐̂͋̅͐͏̦̰̯̪̞̻͚̦͘͟͡ ̧̛̳͇͓͙̰̲̜͙̙̖̰̗͚̗̦̇̍̌͋̂ͮ͌͜͝͝ͅc̨̢̹͓̥̙̜̪̬̲̺̠̳̼̔ͩͮ̎̎ͭ͛͒̄ͣͨ̊̌ͩ̚h̴̴̲͓͔͔͈̞̱̲̥̓͗ͨͨ͐ͪ̂ͥ͝͠e̳̬̣̣͙͆ͪ͗͑͘͡c̢̲͙̲̙͍̞͍̫͈̰͇͛ͮ̆̈́ͭ̊̅͐ͫ̉̓̾͛͟͝͠͞ķ̷̸̨̪̪̳̪̹̻̥̤̰͈͉͖̏̔̿̓̓ͭ̆̓u̵͇̬̪̰͎͖̗͉ͧ̃̓pͦ̊ͣ̎͏̵̭̻̩̤̝̥͇̩͍͓̻͉̝̮̮͜,̸̵̱̠͈͕͎̺̗̖̤̳̗̽̌̌ͤ̆͗̎͊̋̂̎̋̓ͮ ̨̡͉̮̭̱̤͎̫̐ͥ̄̔͌͋͊ͮ͌ͭ͠I̘͖̘͕͕͔̪̳̠͕̭̪̝̥̾ͥͣͥ̐ͧ̕͡ͅ ̡̃̾̓ͥ̌̃̔̆̍̈́ͯ̐͐̚͟҉̲̮͎̮͈̱͓͇͔̜̝͚̼̟̮͘͞s̶̡̮͔̯̏̊̋ͥ̇̈́̊ͫͪ̑͆e̿ͫ͒ͮ̈́ͮͯͥ͛͛̀̒̒͑ͣͫ̒ͤ҉̸͖͓̥̙̤̯̱̟̮̙̝̼̫ě̫͈͙͚͛̓̀̓̕͞.̴̧̣͔̯͕͍͖͇̔̋̐ͮ̿ͮ͑̋̌ͭ̐͒̄͂̃͑̃͢

His clothes were gone. There was the chilling kiss of a razor sharp blade against his skin, trailing down his shivering stomach.

Wͥͯ͋ͧ͠҉̙̩͎͕͈̠͔͍̩̼̭͚͔̲̙͠͞ͅȩ̤̟̘̟͔͈̩̈ͤ̈́̇͑͢ ̧̀̓̍̽̏̆̎̄̿̏͆ͬ̇͋ͦͨ̑͆̚͞͏̠̦̟͉̲̙̭̣̥͎͙͉̻̪ḑ̶͙̻̭̮̗̟ͣ̂͂ͧ̐̈́̇̍͑͂ͮ̇̽ͤͨͯͫ͞o̧̼̜̗̰͙͖͌̂̃ͮ̈́ͩͣ̾̇̈́ͩ̍̏̅̊̍̊͋̕ ̛̜̰̤̟̣͓͈̠͑̐͑̔́̃ͩ̿ͭ̔͋̍ͨ̑ͩͯ̆ͣ̈́͠͝ͅa̛̛̜͎͇̫̗͖̤̳̺̩ͩ̇̈̎͋ͭ̾̌͘͜͝ͅl̵̯̗̤͙̜̜͚͚͍̠̲̹͔ͪ̐̿̈ͨͧͤ̽̆ͪ̈͌̄̓ͪ̉͗̓͘͞w̸̢͎̗͉̜͚͚̯̰̩̗̮̖̉ͬ̒̄̓̓͜ͅą̢̨̞̭̹̟͍͖͔̣̯̜͙̪̦͖͓̈́̿̌ͬ͑͂ͣ̉ͯͅͅÿ̷̞͉̥̩̻̪́́̉͆ͭͤ̐̐̊ͬͥͥ͒͑ͮ̍̉̌̚͟͝ͅs͆̌̊̄͑ͬͯ̇̉͒̾̑҉̠̘̪̤̹̳̣̪̲̱̜̩̘̩̕ ̭̠͔̫͈̙͓̝̜̬̲̻͙̘͍͒̋͊ͣ͗̒͛̎̀ͨ̀͊͜h̶̶̷̦͖̳̼̞̻̩̘̝̯̗̣̘̥͛͐̅̋̾̓̂ͪ̄̊̐̾ͪ̈͂́̆̚ȃ̷̪̹̼̠̀̒̽̈̔̄̑͗͞v̢̢̥͔͔̜̥͈̱̻̞̬̊͐̎̈́́̉̄̐̓ͬ̉̍ͪ́ͨ̕̕ͅȩ̡̨̤͓͔̱͖̳͕̘̣͉̼͉͌ͫͨ̾͡ ͔̼̦̩͎͇̪͈̞̼̙̅̒ͥ̏̋ͫ̍ͣ͜s̋̉̎ͨ̾̐ͭ̈̇҉͙̯͉͔͎͈͞͡͡ơ̶̟̟̣̗̦̫̠̭̖͉̳͓̖̞̜ͤͪ̃̇ͨ̒̎ͨ̊̈̈͘ͅ ̧̭͇̝̠̜͔̬̜͈̲͍̆̈́ͬ̆̾̊̓͂̀͊̚m̴̛̭͙͕̠̤̞̦̙̩͍̤̄͛̏̓̄̅ͧ̚u͊̈́ͭͯ҉̴̛͕̜̝̱̮̭͎̻̫͉̘̜̟̮͚͓͇͎̬͜c̸̡̮̘̘̥̝̞̖͚̘̠͈̝̫̳͓̝̘̞̫̉ͤͩ͒̎̉͛̿̋̇̃͊̾ͪ̏́ḧ̢̨͖̞̰̝̪͙͕̻̳͔̮ͩ͂̌ͭ̈́̌ͮ̓̐͜͢ ̷̧̇͒̈́ͥ̄̿͛̀̓ͣͣ̎ͭ̐ͪ̌̒҉͓̩̟̻̙͚͔̯f̧͖̫̰͈̟͔̔̂ͬ̄̈͞u̡̼̙̭̯̽̈́́̀̑͋ͪ͛͌̒̋͐ņ̷̬͔͎͕͆ͯ͒̉͆̐́̈́̈́ͮ͊̋̅̿̀͂̚͠ ̵̶̰͕̥͙̬̟̘̗͇͖̺̺͎̲ͤͩͪ͂͝ͅw̶ͧͤ̂ͫͩͭ͛͋̊͏̷̧̗͇̦͙̘̘̻̰̜i̶̯̰̦̣̞̥͕̰̪͈̹͂̓͌ͯ̓ͬ̑͊t̛̩̟͖̝͉̝̣͚͙̗̺̰̜͌̌ͦ͊̍̀̚͘ͅh̸̛̻̰̟̪͕́̋̈ͥͧͬ̌ͥ̿̀͒̕͢ͅ ̷͖̬͉̝̯͔͖̯̪͖̙̦̌͒ͦ̆̽̃̓ͧͭ͊ͭ͢͡ơ̶̖̭͓̻̖̬̹̟̘̰̠̙̜͓͚̦̦̲̎ͧ̿̿u̴̲͈̾ͭ̉̾ͤ̔ͫͫ̒͂̐̊͜ͅͅr̷̻̗͔̻͖̫̫̻̺̼̆̑ͣ͐ͫͯͨ̌̅́͋̌ͤ̽͐ͪ̕ ̷̱͖̮̭͙̗̝̙̳̤̠͖̆̔̀̉̓̃͗ͯ̉͒̇͛̈͑̑ͦ̍̅̚͢͜ͅl̡͙̤̪̯̮̠̝̺̦̯͔̰̻̰̳̮̾ͫͥͨͩ̐ͧ̔ͩͯ̔ͧ̓ͧ̊ͤͪ͆̚͝ͅí̙͈̥̳̥͚̟̭̫͕͓̟̦̻͒̈́ͮ̇̔̈́̊̋̓ͧ͟t̛̝̤̭̱̘̻͖͈̲̥̝̼̗̬ͩ̽ͧ͛̆͛̾̈́͒͐̽̔̈ͨͨ̃͜͜t̅͐ͫͦ̐ͩ̋ͯ̉̾͆ͬ̏ͤ͊̆̕͏̢̝̝̞̦͖͓̻̤̠l̛̪̖͇̫͖̹͖͚̣̩̬͋ͯ̍ͦ͆̄ͣ̊ͭ́͊̓ͦ̿̋͢ȩ̱͕̳̳͎̫̞̦͎͉̻̫̰̰̠̄̾̇ͦ̑̀͘͜ͅ ̴̢̳̣̭̞̠̬̻̝͕̞͓̜̗̩ͩͦͨͤ͟ͅͅm̒̇̃ͫ̅ͨ͑ͭ͌̊̉͠͏̵̦͙̭͉͚͈̺̦̫͈͓͇̟͖͟͞ē̴̡͖̘̘̼̤͔͔̻͈̪̣̤͔̗͋̒͊ͣ̆̐̾͘e͒ͮ̈ͤ̇͛̒̽ͧ̕҉҉̞͚̲̰̦̤̥̤̳̦̼͔̙̟̯̻̙̗t̢̛̥͇̘̣̞̱̰͙̪͙̙ͤ̔̄̿̌̎̓̉̔ͩͤ̐ͅi̸̷̢̼̘̳͕̙̳̣̟͉̿ͩ͐͒͛̊ͨ͠n̷̡̨͚͚͚̳̦͎͇͈̝ͨ̓̔̊͂̚̕͟ͅg̴̨̠͚̼̹͚͚̺̰̠̱̾̾̄̉͆ͬͧ͒̽ͦ̆͂͌̈́̓ͥ͋ͬ̇͟ͅͅs͚̳̤̹̞̗̜͔̠̻̙̣̳ͦͧͯͧ̄ͮ̊̎̎́̊ͧͦͬ̉̈̕͟.͉̯̺̱̲̞͔͙͓̅ͦ̑̑͞͝

Something rough- calloused?- carressed his stubbled cheek and he whimpered, the noise sounding distant and disjointed to his own ears. Fingers carded through his hair, mussed and clinging to his forehead with sweat, before giving a vicious tug.

Ṡ̛̛͎͔͙͙͎͊ͩ̄̓ͭ̒͌̑̐̔̒̎́̐͐̑̚̕͠u̷̥̟̤̗͈͈͗̎ͥ̿̏ͨͪ̇̌ͦͦ͒̓͘ͅc̸͙̻͖̮͖͔̼ͬ͂̆͛̓͘ḫ̸̨̛̩̳͍̺͓͎͙̰̭͇͈̙̩̩̤̉ͤͤ̓̽ͅ ̴̸̢̰͉̼̞̥̖̙͔̓ͪ̒̂͂́̃̎̓͞ą̵̴͔̰̯̦̫͐ͣ͐̓̇ͤ̋͌̒ͥ͒ṇ̛̰̝͇̻̙̲̜̙̹̣̹ͭͧͩ̋̑̍͆͛ͪ͝ ̴̡̭̤̮̹͉̮͇̰͉̜ͯ̊͒ͫ͒̽ͭ̈́̓ͅa̡̢̦̖̗̝̩͈̭͋ͪͯ̎ͧ́̓͂͂͋̽ͮ͋͢m̧̳̤̝͉̟̙̦̮̜͕̟̬̙̙̥̝̓̎̎͒̓̑̊͘̕u̵̝̥͖̱̥̺̺̹̝̖̾̇̈̐̅ͬ̏̄̍̇͂̏̇̔ͥ͑̅̄͝s̢͆ͧ̑̆ͩ͊ͥ̒͑̈́ͮ̉̂ͫͧ͋̚҉̞͚̠̼͔i̐̂̂̍̒ͮͯ̐͐ͬ͒̾̓͏̵̵͓̣̙͢n̵̺̬̼̖̤̙͓͎̣̣̫͓̝̖̘̠̫̫̿ͬ̽̆̽̊͗̌̃͘͜͟͠ģ͎͔̮͈̗̻͈͖̭̈̉̎ͮ̀̀͑͑͋ͭ͟͢ͅ ̶̰̹͖͇͉̥͑̿͆͗̓̽ͨͫ̓̓̓̂̅̉͜͢͡ͅm̤̙̬̯̮̭̲̠ͬ̇͊ͤ͜͝͝o̸ͩͫͦͨ͂ͣͣ̎ͬͣ̎̀ͯ̈͏̢̬̩̦̜͉̼̱̳̩͍͖̩̭̣͔͝ủ̵͉̞̫̙̺̞͚̦̫͖̝̱ͭ̓ͪ̊̈́͑ͫ̊ͮ̋͑ͯͨ̓͜͠s̥͎̣̰̲̰̙͓̠̭͍̱̯̗̻̃ͦ̌ͦ͐͋̽͢e̷̵̬̦͉̪̱̲̖͍̺̹̪ͨͣ̃̅̆ͦ͋͊͜͡ ̵̫̘̺̟̲̬͋̿͒̇y̸̧̻͓͕̞͉̮̠̠̞̯̮̫̜̺̠̖̹̪̅̾͌͐̇̓͂ͩ̓ͪ̕͟͡ơ̢̹̜̗̞̱̬̪̺̱̥̗̩̜͛ͦ̉̿͌ͩ̋͗ͥ̌̊ü̴̂͐̽ͥ̄͗̋̊͒͢҉͈̰̦͖̖͕͍̼̬̜̮̱̫̭͎̻̖ͅ ̵͈̜̼̙̩̱̬̜̣̗̰̖̼͉̋̊͌͑ͬ̓ͩ̇̊ͫͩ͊̈́͌̚a̡̎̎͗ͪ̓̅ͭ̒̈́͑̿̇ͨ̅̚͏̷̡̣̝̰̘̩͈͈̺̩̝̤̘͖͔̺͎͟r͍͈̙̤̬̺̥̫͔̖̩̹͕͔͎̖̖͊ͫͭͦ̒̊͌̕͟ͅe̴̛͚̘̼͚͓ͮͩ̑͋͛ͫ̔̍̈́͋͘͢ͅ.̴̡̫̠̮̭̞̦̞̫̦̼͚͉̪͕͖̰̊̋̀ͥ

He whimpered as he felt the sting of the blade piercing his skin, the warm welling up of his own blood. It trickled down his ribs, ticklish, as the line of fire raced from his sternum towards his groin. Another sharp tug to his green hair left him crying out, convulsing.

S̮͚̯̝̠̙̲̈́̓͑̅͊̔̅̇̈́͘͘͡q̴̡̢̜̯̬̝̞̥̰̜͔̪̝̝̳̍̑͊́̔̔̽̆ͣͧ̾ͭ̓̅ͅu̡̨̱̼̲̥͒̔̽͐̿̓̀ͬ͂̄̎̉̈́̾͛͛e̐̐̆̎҉̷͏͎͖̻͍̻̪̼͇̬̝̹͓ͅa̴̘̻̜̹̦̟̙̲̘̘̓͑̆͊͂͑̆͊̆̈̔̃̌͑̽̊̾͡k̴̛̬̹̝̺̜̼̖̘͚̱̥͖͉̝̊͗͗ͨͤ̚̕,̵̸̢̻̝͎͕̳̫̞̬͈ͭ͛̍ͫ̂̈̅̈́́̎͢ ̨̡͈̤̗̭͉̗̰̠̬͎̰͉̟͔͈̃̋ͤ͛̿̏̋ͤ͘̕͠ͅm̴̞̻̙̲̒ͭ̾͑ͥͩͨ͐ͯ̆̄ͥ͢õ̸̓̾̔ͮ̉̓ͩͪ̚͢҉̪͔͙̬͈̰̱ų̸̡̛̖͕̗͚̫̭͓̳̳̝̪͙͉̻̜͈̥̱ͨͣ̅̅̏͟ͅs̴̛̺͈̠̬̬͈̖̰̙͉͖̮͂̏̒̃̄ͫ̉͋ͯͧ̐͞ȩ̦̜̥͖̭͖̳̤̳̖̘̹̮̪̻̓ͯ̏̉͋̇̓ͬ̿̚ͅͅͅ.̧͚̼̠̺͖̗͎̣̗̙̮̳̐ͧ̆̿ͬ͛͛̎ͮ͒̊̾ͩ̾̒ͨ̎ͭ̐͘͘ͅ

Something else warm and wet slipped down his cheeks, pooling onto the cool metal beneath his head. He was crying. It hurt. He couldn't think.

N̴̸̡̺͈̜͉͙̲̫̪̫̠̔̐ͦ̐̑ͨͭͫ͌̉̅ͮ͝ǫ̷̸̶̩̯̲͔̹͎͔̹̝͕̤̝̯̥ͣ͌͊̑͐͞ͅ ̴̢̖̫̞̟̘̦͔̜͈̝̠̱̰̳̟̞ͫ̓ͪ̒͞o̵̳̝̜͈̹̩͔̪̣̼͉̫͎̦͓̾̋̏ͤ͂̕͡n̉̍͛͋̽ͦ̊͛ͬ̿ͬ̓͌̏̄͜҉̠̪̫̺͇̭̰̲̫̹̱̬̳̼̦͕̰̟̩͠eͮ̉ͮ̀̔̈̏̆ͤ̊͌ͨ͗̃͑ͥ̆҉̷̛͉͎͖̩̗͔̳̬͉̠͎̟͡ͅͅͅ ̸̪̗̜̖ͣ̊̈̑ͮ̐̾͆͒ͦ̂̕͜͜͡cͫ̀͋̾͗̎̈ͩ̌ͩͯ͆̔̅ͧ͏̛̛̫̘̤̪̙ą̸̬̖͕͙̪̮̬͎͎͍̹͚̹͎̲͖̙͚̖ͫ̌̊͑̍ͬͭ̊̏̊̅̃̔̚ǹ̸̷̶̶͗͗ͨͦͨ͌̈́ͮͦ͒̋ͩ̓ͣ͌҉̞͓͈̙̻̤ ̣̞̫̬̫̱̫̭͍̻͙̾̂ͧͣͭ̕͡͡h̶̴̢͇͈̱͖͙̖̮̲̳̘ͤ̃ͪ͆̄ͣ̌̋ͣ́̒̈̓e͊͛ͮͭ͊ͥ̂ͫ̃ͦ̓̍ͤͯ̋̇̆ͩͯ͘͏̝̝̯̞̫̠͜a̸̘̣̯͍̱͈̗͑̃̌ͮ̓͛͂ͥ̒̌̈́͐͘ŗ̗̮̫̜̰̤͚̲̝͉̮̪̰͙͛̔̽͛ͯ̾ͭ͑ͥ̆̅̑ͦ̄͜͟ͅ.̶̀̓͐̍ͯ͒ͤ̚͡͏͈̭̞̱̠̠̱͉̗

Why? Why was this happening? He sobbed, sniffling, blinking back more tears as he tried to make out his attacker. Maybe, if he could just see his face, if he could just place a name... this nightmare could end. It could finally end.

B̶̸̡̠̩̯̹ͯ̈ͯͮ̽ͬ́͐͐ͧ͝eͥ̄̈́ͭͧ̓͋ͪͣ̄ͣ̒ͤ̿҉͞҉̯̬̹̻͍͚̫̯͙͇͍ͅͅͅ ̶̡̛̩̻̦̤̠͚̭͍̝̞̲̖̙̭͇̰̼̳͂͑̾̓̎̑̓̆̂̈̉̑̽̋̈̒͋s̡͑̾̍ͨ̉̕҉̡̢͎͖̲̖̭͙̦͇͕̩̥̻̼t̶̷̨̛̿̔̑͑ͭͣ̆͛̉͆̚҉͔̹̪̘̬͔͎̬̳̺̮̙̙̥iͣ̂̔͛͐͂̽̈͌̓͊̃̃҉̴͖͖͖̣̼̺̭̲̩͍̰̘͘l̇ͦͮͨ̑̍̾̒̔̀͒̌̓ͤ̒̐̔ͦ҉̴̢̡̺̝̜̳̤̙l͕̠̟̝̘̬̞̞͍̝̟̰̙̣̼̤̅͌́̈͒̕͞,ͩ̔̒͊ͮ̍̀ͩ̈͏̸̮͓͈͓͔͔̙͉̻͙̺̻̼̲̲̪̭ ̡̰͚̭̳͔͎̥̌̏̈́ͬ̍͆̋ͭͭ̏ͥ̾̿͜D͐ͫͨ̆̄̓̐̆ͧ͢͡҉̗͈͔͎̹͚̼͖̱̟̩͝ö̷̵͕̘͇͕͈͚̘͎̠̱̻̗͎͙̹͔̭͍̹̔́̌ͮč̵̹̤̖̋̿̈̒͆͋̋̉̅̒̄ͣ̄ͩ͠ẗ͕̘̬̹͉̬̭͙́̆ͬ͌̐̆ͧ̆̑̏͒̎͊ͪͫͩ̔̚͞o̷͙̗͓̥̞̱̤̯͚͓̘̘̼͖̞̪̮̹̝ͣͭ̎ͣ͘͞͞r̝̠̰̫̭͔͉̗͕̳̫̓̒ͮ̐ͤ͘.̨͚̟̟̯̠͙̠̭͙͕͓͔̗͛ͤ̍̊̓̊̍̀̽͑͒̊̚͟͟ͅ

Acidic green eyes in inky pools of black. Two grins- one blindingly white and the other dripping crimson. A shock of green and pointed ears. The figure shimmered in and out of view, like a glitching computer image or a stuttering video clip.

**L̕et's͘ st͞art ̛th̡e ͟expe̸r͢i͞me͞nt, ̛s͝h͞a͏ll͜ ̧we͘?**


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